The Return

I thought the road of Return would be eased by the care and understanding of those I love, those that love me. The last six months have not been easy for anyone. I treated them all with less and less kindness in direct proportion to how often I considered death. I hate asking for help from anyone, and so the black disease-ridden psyche damaged me and everyone around me until I had no choice but to ask someone to help take the weight off. So I don't blame them, I guess, for not wanting much to do with me now.

I had been hopeful, however, that they still cared enough to be compassionate, kind, and present in my life. Instead, my road is paved with the hurt I gave them, and they have no compassion left to give.